


This Bed, Thy Centre; These Walls, Thy Sphere

by maybemalapert (laconicisms)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Community: come_at_once, Exhibitionism, Light Dom/sub, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-11
Updated: 2013-02-11
Packaged: 2017-11-28 23:48:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/680252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laconicisms/pseuds/maybemalapert
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John and Sherlock greet the sun, and London. Mycroft is not there, and that may or may not be a good thing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This Bed, Thy Centre; These Walls, Thy Sphere

**Author's Note:**

> I feel like I've read this scenario somewhere before, but for the life of me I can't remember where. (If I've accidentally stolen someone's kinkmeme prompt, please let me know. /o\\) 
> 
> Also, Mycroft isn't present during the fic; his name is dropped in a sexual context however. I'm just mentioning that in case of incest squick.
> 
> Finally, this was written for the saki101's prompt "sunrise" for the come_at_once challenge, which is a 24 hour porn writing challenge. Consequently, this fic is unbetaed. All mistakes are on me.

He has become accustomed to seeing sunrise from the wrong end of the day, or night as the case may be. Night shifts at a hospital, night shifts in the army, night shifts with Sherlock Holmes. All of them have in common that he doesn't really have time to enjoy the first rays of the sun peeking over the horizon, the way the light plays over Sherlock's skin as he cradles a cup of tea, looking out the window at London.

"I should go to bed." Sarah's expecting him at the clinic in a couple of hours. 

Sherlock doesn't react, which in itself isn't strange, but...the case is over. There isn't anything that should hold Sherlock's attention to the point where he doesn't react to John proposing to _go to bed_. Most days when he does, Sherlock will raise an eyebrow and John will know it to mean, 'But do you really plan to sleep?'

"Sherlock?"

Sherlock puts down his cup of tea and steeples his fingers. "Few people are awake right now."

John waits because Sherlock usually has a reason for stating the bloody obvious. Sherlock's lips quirk as if he's heard the thought. "There is, of course, a small chance that someone would see if you were to fuck me pressed up against the window."

Danger, John's mind screams.

Fuck yes, his dick answers.

\--

He is not going to be fast and frantic about this, even though this is what Sherlock expected. Probably.

Maybe. 

He doesn't know, doesn't really care either. Sherlock claims that John surprises him, that he cannot anticipate him, but the detective nevertheless does so constantly. 

"Take off your shirt. "

Sherlock's lips curl upward again and he barely opens the buttons on his sleeves before pulling the shirt over his head and dropping it on the floor. Eager? Or afraid that John would change his mind if Sherlock took too long?

"Shoes and socks next." Sherlock always has the advantage of height, but John loves keeping him off-balance, with John in control of their encounters, so he uses every trick in the book. Sherlock bends down to unlace his shoes and John takes the opportunity to let a hand trail over Sherlock's back and down to his buttocks. He reaches around to the pockets in Sherlock's trousers and, with some difficulty, pulls the small tube of lubrication out. It gets stuck in the folds and he has to wriggle around a bit. Sherlock straightens and the tube comes loose. 

John slaps his arse. "Trousers next. Stand facing the window." He takes a step back as Sherlock turns towards the window, expression haughty but amused. His cheeks are faintly red, evidence that he isn't quite as unaffected as he always likes to pretend right up until John is buried deep inside him. The trousers slither down his legs, pooling at Sherlock's feet and John almost forgets to tell him not to step out of them because _Sherlock isn't wearing anything underneath_.

He's planned this. Of course, he has. "Freeze," John says and is proud of how steady his voice sounds. He coaxes Sherlock's legs apart with his foot, gripping his shoulders and bending him forwards. Sherlock's hands come up and he puts them on the window pane. John will have to clean the window after that; well, he'll have to clean the window anyway, considering.

He opens the cap of the lube and slicks up his fingers, not giving Sherlock any more warning than that. Sherlock jumps only a little as he presses inside. 

"What do you see?"

Sherlock grunts and he tilts his head. It's not that John thinks Sherlock would close his eyes and block out the fact that he's leaning naked against the window while John fucks him with a finger or, soon, two. But he wants Sherlock focused on this fact because this is what Sherlock _wants_. 

"Darkened windows. No one is awake, or if they are they're keeping the lights off, but it's more likely they're still asleep considering their normal... (John twists his finger)..ah, their normal sleeping pattern." 

"And on the street?"

"There's," Sherlock says and hisses as John inserts a second finger. "There's someone, but, but he's not looking up."

"Best not to shout and draw his attention then," John remarks in a calm voice before moving his fingers just so and hitting the prostate. Again. Sherlock tenses, clenching around his fingers. 

"Best not, yes," he breathes after a moment or two during which John keeps working him open.

"Describe him to me."

Sherlock does; he also makes deductions about the man's profession and his reason for being here (office job, drunk; probably on his way to visit the young teacher three doors down. She won't open the door for him at this hour.). He stumbles slightly over his own words as John breaches him with a third finger.

"She might look out of the window when the door bell rings. She might look in our direction," John murmurs as he withdraws, hands going towards his own belt.

"Improbable," Sherlock replies and John leans forward to leave a kiss on Sherlock's neck. The front of his jumper brushes against Sherlock's naked skin, a sensation that he knows drives Sherlock insane, the scratchiness of the fabric irritating him to no end.

"Not impossible, however," he breathes into Sherlock's ear and Sherlock shudders.

John coats his cock with some more lube and lines himself up. He slides inside slowly, one hand gripping Sherlock's hip and the other going around to take Sherlock's own cock in his hand. Sherlock is achingly hard.

John starts to move slowly, pulling out and pushing back in at a pace that is agonisingly slow even for him and he has way more patience for this than Sherlock does. He plays with Sherlock's cock, squeezing lightly, moving his hand up and down a little. John can't see the street down below all that well, but Sherlock keeps up a running commentary on what is happening. Not much is, though it looks like the office worker isn't going to give up any time soon. 

John keeps up the maddening pace.

After a while Sherlock swears and grits out "John," between clenched teeth. Sherlock knows better than to try and encourage John to move faster by clenching down around him. He did try it once, and John made his opinion on that known.

Sherlock hasn't tried since.

The sun is rising higher in the sky, more than half of it peaking over the horizon, and John picks up the pace, nearing the end of his own tether. He keeps his hand around Sherlock's cock, but stops giving him more than the feel of John's fingers closing around it, and Sherlock repeats John's name, pleading. 

The air is still and silent around them, only Sherlock's and John's breathing breaking the quiet as John speeds up more, movements becoming jerky. He starts jerking Sherlock off again. There's another sound suddenly and John recognises it the same moment that Sherlock stutters, "Car." 

"Now imagine," John rasps, on the brink of orgasm, "Mycroft getting out and looking up."

Sherlock spasms and tumbles over the edge, come squirting all over the window pane. John follows him a moment later.

They slide down and John slips out. Sherlock’s breathing is harsh, skin sweat soaked and glistening in the early morning sun. 

"Good morning," John whispers. It is a good morning.

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from the last stanza of "The Sun Rising" by John Donne. In context:
> 
>  
> 
> Thou, sun, art half as happy'as we,  
> In that the world's contracted thus;  
> Thine age asks ease, and since thy duties be  
> To warm the world, that's done in warming us.  
> Shine here to us, and thou art everywhere;  
> This bed thy centre is, these walls, thy sphere.  
> 


End file.
